


Bonding

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, PWP, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:55:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4701779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas introduces Bard to a special Mirkwood secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonding

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Legolas introduces Bard to a very interesting specimen of Mirkwood flora” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20899071#t20899071).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They move swiftly through the forest, denser and darker the deeper they go, the floor now so thoroughly covered in vines that it’s difficult to see the brown earth through the green. Bard’s never been this far through before, nor would he have ever wished to be, but he’s come to trust Legolas implicitly. He loyally follows his prince of choice far beyond the path. He’s wary, of course, not that Legolas would bring him to danger, but simply because this is _Mirkwood_ , and Bard doesn’t share the same advanced senses and immortality that his lover does. 

Finally, Legolas brings them to a stop, into a small clearing of trees smattered in thick ferns. The branches still block out most of the light, the occasional ray slithering through to highlight a lush leaf or the silver-gold of Legolas’ hair. He turns to tell Bard in a hushed voice, “We are here. This will be very new to you, as I promised, but you must tell me if it becomes too uncomfortable. To my knowledge, you will be their first mortal, and I hope but am not sure enough that you will be pleased with it.”

Bard lifts a dark brow but only nods. Elves often give him too little credit for what he can adapt to, but Legolas doesn’t give any explanation as to who ‘they’ are, and that’s disconcerting. Legolas studies him for a moment, perhaps assessing his strength, then wades into the pit of plants. 

Only a few steps in, Legolas turns, and he slowly lowers himself down amongst them, lying, as though in a particularly uneven bed. His expression is calm, nearly serene—a welcome change from how hardened he often comes to Bard. He’s been gradually unwinding, Bard’s noticed, perhaps from their coupling—Bard doesn’t have much to give, but he’s faithful and knows how to love. He can make his children smile when he needs to, and he’s learned how to do the same for Legolas. 

Without bidding Bard to follow, Legolas murmurs a few words in Elvish, lilting and light like magic. The plants about him rustle as though to answer, and then Bard spots the ends of several vines creeping over his body. It brings tension to Bard’s muscles, but he doesn’t reach for the knife in his pocket—both their bows are back in Thranduil’s keep. Legolas doesn’t look at all worried about the vines, and so Bard only watches while they twist along him: one over his shoulder, three at his sides, four about his ankles and one along his thigh. That one seems to clench the mostly tightly of all, creeping higher, until it’s looped once around Legolas’ inner thigh and slithering over his crotch. Bard’s breath hitches. The vine traces the outline of Legolas’ shape through his tights, and Legolas’ lashes flutter, lips parting but no words coming out—a look Bard recognizes all too well. It’s certainly not what he expected from a trip into the forest, but it’s one he’s always pleased to see. Dry-mouthed, he asks, “Will we be interrupted here?”

“These plants are well known,” Legolas murmurs, a slightly huskiness in his tone. He wears no armour today, and the vines across his chest tease his nipples through his tunic, until Bard can see the protrusions of them and longs to feel them with his own fingers and tongue. Legolas hesitates while the vine at his crotch plays with him, then licks his pink lips and continues, “Only those who wish for this will come, and they will not spread word of what they see.” Another plant curls around the tip of Legolas’ ear, coyly petting the inside as Bard occasionally does, because he likes the way it makes Legolas flush and squirm. Bard’s trousers are becoming as tight as Legolas’. Legolas opens his arms, reaching out to welcome Bard into an embrace. 

A part of Bard wants to stay; he’d be quite content to just watch his beautiful prince defiled by creeping vines, but he’s never been able to refuse an invitation from Legolas. He takes his own step carefully into the underbrush, then lowers to his knees, Legolas taking hold of his shoulders and pulling him down. He tries to balance his own weight atop Legolas, though Legolas is far stronger than his delicate, lithe form makes him look, and the plants seem to help. They wrap around Bard’s knees, spread around Legolas’, and climb to his arms, holding him flush atop Legolas but not quite crushed down. It’s a curious sensation, being wrapped in living rope, but he gives himself over to it for the trust on Legolas’ face. He lets the vines tie them together, waist-to-waist, and he nuzzles at Legolas’ nose, tilting for a kiss. Chaste and sweet, Legolas returns it. While their mouths work against one another, the vines climb to Bard’s neck, probing at the corner of their lips. Legolas parts them long enough to whisper more words in Elvish, and the plants subside from their faces. It leaves Bard to wonder if they normally play along Legolas’ mouth, perhaps slipping inside to fill his pliant throat. The image gives Bard a shiver, stirring his crotch against Legolas’, and Legolas kisses him again to recapture his attention.

The vines feel tight, sturdy, but when Bard lifts one arm, they let him go, and he repositions so that he can thread his fingers into Legolas’ long hair. It’s spread out amongst the leaves, silk-soft and feather-light, always a joy for Bard to twist his hand into and tug, guide Legolas around for where he’d like. He buries himself in it and kisses Legolas _hard_ , almost bruising. Legolas sucks in a breath from him and kisses back all the fiercer, his own arm squirming next to Bard’s. His fingers slip between Bard’s, and Bard clenches around them, while the vines bubble up to bind their wrists together. 

Legolas breaks suddenly. He turns his face from Bard’s and gasps, his lashes fluttering closed and his hips cantering up, cheeks flushed. Bard mumbles, “What is it...?” But he knows soon enough. One of the vines has made its way up his leg and dipped into his trousers, and when he lifts up high enough to look, he can see where they’ve slithered their way beneath Legolas’ clothes. The one at Bard’s rear crawls between his cheeks, the raw end reaching his hole, then curling about it. He grunts, wondering if it’s done the same to Legolas, or if it’s gone _inside_. Legolas gasps and bucks into him again, and Bard is sure: that must be it—the plant is _fucking_ Legolas. 

A bit of rubbing, and the plant unfurls, the rounded tip pulling back to squirt some kind of liquid at Bard’s ring of puckered muscles. He twitches in surprise, thinking it honey, but it’s slicker, not quite sticky, and the plant rubs it around him, teasing him until he’s fluctuated open enough for the tip to poke inside. He sucks in a breath, and Legolas steals it away, now humping him to a steady rhythm. He can’t tell if it’s just Legolas’ hips, or if the plant is strong enough to toss him up. It doesn’t matter. The feeling of Legolas’ crotch pounding into Bard’s and the gorgeous, breathy gasps that spill from Legolas’ lips makes Bard’s own strange journey worth it. He lets the vine push inside him, slow and wet. It gets thicker as it goes, growing and writhing impossibly deep, until Bard is sure anymore will make him burst, and he clenches tight around it, trying to stop it. By some strange fate, it listens, and it begins to pull out, only to slither back inside. 

At first, it’s only gentle rocking motions, occasionally sliding along that one spot that makes Bard’s hips spasm, makes him cry out and bury his face in Legolas’. But the thrusts pick up speed and force each time, until the vine’s tossing Bard down, grinding him into Legolas, stabbing at that pleasure spot and brutally fucking both him and Legolas to the same beat. They’re held together and rubbed against one another and fucked up and down to the same rhythm, Bard shuddering and screaming on half the thrusts and Legolas squirming and whimpering with the rest. It’s one of the oddest experiences Bard’s ever had, but it’s so drenched in _pleasure_ that he doesn’t mind, and every time he stops to think, a part of his body will catch on Legolas’ and he’ll lose his train of thought. Sometimes he tries to kiss Legolas, but it’s all sloppy, and Legolas only noses at him and scatters short pecks and licks across his face. 

Somehow, the plants go farther. Bard doesn’t even realize they’re unfastening his clothes until his trousers are open and a vine’s around his cock, only to be pressed into Legolas’ a moment later. He recognizes the feel of it, the heat and the way it throbs, the smooth skin and short tufts of hair above it compared to the coarse, almost leathery touch of the vines. Those vines adjust to wrap their cocks together, tying them up with just enough give to rub against one another with their movement. The plants give them liquid to use, oiling them up and making it easier to slip against one another. It’s a heady mix of sensations all over his body that Bard can hardly stand—the plants are rubbing so many parts of him, and the parts they aren’t teasing are flattened against Legolas, and his hand is still in Legolas’ to squeeze. 

The plant is merciless, and it rides Bard relentlessly, until his balls are tightening against Legolas’ and his vision’s blurring. His skin is broiling, his head dizzy, and he comes with a roar against Legolas’ cheek, his cock bursting between. Legolas gasps, pitching up, but Bard’s cries swallow it—Bard rides it out, taking every last thrust the plant has to give while the world closes in around him.

When there’s nothing left, the plant jerks abruptly out. Bard sways in shock, ass gaping open and dribbling down into his trousers, the rest of him still bound to Legolas and his head vaguely, slowly coming down. He feels heavy and spent, but the plant holds him up. It fucks Legolas to completion, until Legolas spurts against Bard and tosses his head back to scream, his pretty face flushed in perfection. Bard watches his orgasm hold him, then gradually let go, and he slumps the same as Bard. 

Gently, the plant pushes Bard to Legolas’ side. It uncurls from both of them, vines slithering away to leave just the plush ferns cushioning their disheveled bodies. Bard’s sweating and panting, but Legolas, as usual, fairs better. He doesn’t look so much wrecked as ethereal, already beautiful and now bathed in delights: a treat far beyond what Bard deserves. They lie together like that for a moment, the plant politely gone. 

Eventually, Bard gets the energy to roll onto his side, kiss Legolas’ cheek and murmur, “That was... interesting.” 

Legolas turns to look at him, lips twitching up at the corner, and asks, “Interesting enough to return another time?”

Bard chuckles and surprises himself by saying, “Definitely.” Legolas’ languid grin is worth it. 

Legolas turns to return the peck to Bard’s cheek, but then he pushes to half sit up, always recovered faster than his mortal lover. He suggests, “Perhaps we should find a more private place to actually spend the night.” Bard nods but doesn’t really feel like moving. 

Legolas has to help him up, which is probably for the best, as Bard has no idea how long the vines need in between rounds, but he certainly needs some time. They clean themselves up as best they can, retying clothes and finger-combing hair, trusting the darkness to hide the stains.

As they had back together, Bard asks, “So... what other interesting flora does Mirkwood have to offer...?”


End file.
